


These hands not fit for holding

by targaryen_melodrama



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Emotional Baggage, I guess that's the appropriate tag, M/M, POV Sam Wilson, Post-Avengers: Endgame (Movie), References to Depression, Sam Wilson Feels, Sam's real sad is what you need to know
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-23
Updated: 2019-07-23
Packaged: 2020-07-09 18:17:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,325
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19892212
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/targaryen_melodrama/pseuds/targaryen_melodrama
Summary: Just as he was ready to say yes to the Tower and yes to Avenging, Sam had remembered. Remembered that his issues predated Thanos and his stones; predated the Raft and chasing Bucky Barnes around the globe; predated fighting Hydra and going back in; predated Riley and the Air Force.





	These hands not fit for holding

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to my dear friend and fellow East Coaster for beta'ing this fic, you're the best!

Sam’s not hiding. Hiding implies intent, sometimes even maliciousness, and neither of those things apply to his current situation. What Sam is doing is protecting himself. It’s like bringing an umbrella when the sky is grey, really: you won’t avoid the rain, but you’ll be mostly shielded from it.

Things could’ve gone another way if he wanted them to. The Avengers were back together, and life had taken back its peaceful course—as peaceful as it could be with aliens roaming the Earth along with supersoldiers and gods. But when Steve had given him that same look he did that morning on the National Mall, the look that promised the kind of trouble they both craved, Sam, for the first time ever, did not return it.

He’d known it was coming; Steve was anything but subtle, and Sam had spent enough time with Bucky to be able to decode his language and the truth lying behind the words he said and the words he chose not to say out loud. Whenever Bucky said when _we_ get back home, Sam had known he didn’t just mean himself and Steve. Despite Steve and Bucky’s obvious intention to bring Sam along their century-long adventure, Sam realized he couldn’t join them.

Just as he was ready to say yes to the Tower, yes to Avenging and yes, hopefully, to going from sleeping alone in a full bed to sleeping in a California King with two living legends, Sam had remembered. Remembered that his issues predated Thanos and his stones; predated the Raft and chasing Bucky Barnes around the globe; predated fighting Hydra and going back in; predated Riley and the Air Force. There was a reason Sam had never said a thing to Riley, even when he’d felt Riley’s eyes lingering in places they never would have had his feelings been completely platonic. If he wanted to stick to the plan, to keep himself _safe_ , Sam had to keep his distance from Steve and Bucky. When the quinjet landed, Sam had pulled Steve aside and quickly explained that he wouldn’t be heading to the Tower with them. Steve had nodded, and Sam had known immediately that he thought this was temporary. He didn’t have the courage to tell him it wasn’t.

He had spent his first few weeks back in the chaos of coming back to life, like half of the planet. Sam stayed with his mom for almost a month, catching up on the time he’d been away from his family both before and after the snap. He found an apartment close by, as a favour from a childhood friend (somewhere between ruining government agencies and being a wanted man, Sam Wilson had lost the favor of real estate agencies in D.C.) and transferred to the Harlem VA, where the counsellors were busier than ever.

Sam had been staying in shape (he’d gone back to jogging three times a week) and spending time with his family pretty regularly. He’d even considered downloading one of those god awful dating apps. Life had been...good. Great, even. After months of survival, years of just getting by, things were finally looking up.

Until this morning.

“On your left.”

Sam instantly feels dizzy and almost trips on his own feet. He hadn’t seen or heard from Steve (or Bucky) in _weeks_ (three months, thirteen days and...five hours, but who’s counting?), and the last thing Sam expects to hear on his morning jog is Steve’s shitty attempt at flirting from five years ago.

Sam considers stopping and confronting Steve head on, but his feet speed up without input from his brain. He ends up sprinting his last quarter mile and almost— _almost_ —beating Steve to his finish line. Sam collapses next to a large rock and looks up at Steve, half-expecting Natasha to show up in a sports car.

“Been a while since I’ve done that.”

“Since you’ve done what. Showed off? Made some poor, normal, human man look bad? Don’t think so, Rogers.”

Steve grins. “Maybe not. But it’s been a while since I’ve felt that good doing it.”

Sam rolls his eyes. “It’s a wonder we’re even friends.”

Steve’s eyes lose a little bit of their humor, and he clears his throat. “It’s been a while since I’ve seen you at all,” he says casually, and God bless those girls who toured with Steve back during World War II, because Jesus, the guy is a horrible actor. 

Sam hopes his acting skills are slightly better than Steve’s when he shrugs and says, “It has been. I’ve been busy. VA and all.”

Steve nods. “Glad to hear you’re back. I’m sure you’re going a wonderful job.”

Sam would be lying if he said he didn’t appreciate Steve’s compliment, but it _has_ been a while and Steve isn’t in Central Park this early for no reason.

“Steve, why are you here?”

“Can’t I just want to see my friend?” When Sam raises an eyebrow, Steve frowns. “Seriously, Sam. It’s been thir—fourteen weeks now. D’you think I wouldn’t miss you?”

God, this would’ve been a thousand times easier if Steve sounded the least bit accusatory. He just seems confused. And a little bit hurt, but that’s probably some wishful thinking on Sam’s part.

“I just...I guess you needed a break. From this. From us. I understand,” Steve continues. _Do you really?_ “But then Nat told us you’d stayed in New York and you never...you didn’t say anything. You didn’t even call.”

“I…there was so much I needed to figure out,” Sam says, and it’s not completely untrue, so Sam figures it’s okay. “So did you and Barnes, and the rest of the Avengers, I bet.”

“Yeah, we did,” Steve admits, though his bright blue eyes are still wide, uncomprehending. “But I thought—I thought we’d figure things out together. Like always.”

Sam almost tells him the entire truth right then and there. 

“How about...why don’t you come over for dinner next week,” Sam offers instead, which is almost worse than admitting the truth. _Why, Wilson, why?_ “You guys bring drinks and dessert, I’ll cook—it’d be real sad if we died from food poisoning after surviving Thanos.” The joke comes easily, the teasing tone easier still, especially when he’s got Steve focused on him like that and _goddamnit_ , this is why he’d stayed away. This is why he hasn’t visited them, why he hasn’t called. How could Sam possibly hang on to the fact that letting himself have this—have _them_ —was a bad idea when it’s so fucking easy to do the opposite? Steve hadn’t even asked and Sam had followed him around the world. Sam doesn’t wanna know what he’d say yes to if Steve—or Bucky—actually asked. 

Steve laughs, warm and wide, and Sam feels a surge of affection for Bucky, who’d loosened Steve up so he could laugh at jokes like these, instead of— _damn it_.

“Dinner,” Steve agrees, nodding. “Your place next week. I look forward to it”

 _Wish I could say the same_.

***

“Wilson, what the hell are you doing?”

Sam freezes with a soapy sponge in one hand and a plate in the other.

“...the dishes?”

Bucky huffs (and probably rolls his eyes, not that Sam can see it) and walks to Sam, removing the sponge from his hand.

“The person who cooks doesn’t do the dishes. Remember who taught me that?”

“Yeah, butー”

“Hand over the sponge, Sam.”

“Bucky, it’sー”

“Don’t make me take it from you,” Bucky threatens with a raised eyebrowーsomething he also learned from him, Sam thinks.

“Fine.”

Sam has to drag his eyes away from Bucky and the way the blue shirt he’s wearing brings out his eyes and clings to his arms and chest. It had been hard enough for Sam to focus on something other than Bucky’s chest when he laughed, or his eyes when he smiled at Sam after cracked a joke (more often than not at Steve’s expense).

“You’re leaving Steve alone to set up Mario Kart?”

“Steve’ll figure it out. Plus he got you all to himself last week. ‘S not fair.”

“Payback?” Sam asks with a small smile.

“Kinda.” Bucky shrugs. “Mostly I wanted to spend some time with you.”

Sam feels his cheeks warming and busies himself with drying and placing the dishes Bucky’s putting down in the drying rack. About a minute after they set a decent rhythm between the two of them, Bucky breaks the silence.

“Did I, um…” Sam looks over, sees Bucky biting his lip before he shakes his head slightly. “Did I tell you I enrolled in a class?”

“You did? Bucky that’s fantastic!” Sam says, and means it too. He remembers their quiet conversation towards the end of their stay in...wherever the fuck they were when Thanos snapped his fingers. It had felt like a few hours to them (five _years_ is still impossible for Sam to properly wrap his head around), and just like every other time soldiers were caught somewhere without knowing whether they’d make it, the _what will you do when you’re out_ game had started.

_“School, I think.”_

_“School? Like...high school, or…?”_

_“No, Wilson, not fuckin’ high school. A class or two, maybe. Just ‘cause. There ain’t too many jobs out there for people with missing armsーeven for people who don’t have my rap sheet. But classes? It’s something I didn’t doーcouldn’t do back then. And shit, what’s the point of gettin’ through a war and 70 years of torture if I can’t do something new? Something fun?”_

“Yeah?”

“Yeah, of course! I’m really happy for you. What class are you taking?”

“Introduction to Astrophysics for Non-Physics Majors,” Bucky says, one part shy and two parts proud.

Sam lets out a low whistle. “You’re gonna be a real-life scientist, Barnes. That’s a big deal.”

Bucky rolls his eyes. “It’s notーand I’m not. But it’s something I like and it’s gonna be fun. And I wanted to tell you,” Bucky says, his eyes focused on Sam.

“Thanks,” Sam says, embarrassed again. “I, uhーthanks.”

Bucky offers him a small smile, but his eyes roaming over Sam’s face, like he’s looking for the answer to a question he hadn’t asked out loud.

“Don’t mention it. Come on,” he says, gently taking the rag from Sam’s hands. “I’ve got a game to win.”

This, more than anything, brings Sam back to sure, familiar ground.

“Whatever you need to tell yourself to sleep at night, man. Second place isn’t winning, Barnes.”

“Yeah, you would know,” is the last remark Bucky throws at him before they settle on Sam’s couch with Steve and get down to business.

Maybe, Sam thinks as he glances over at Bucky one last time, maybe this wasn’t the worst of ideas. Maybe seeing Bucky smile like that is worth all the work Sam’ll have to do to close himself off again when they leave later tonight.

***

The dinners become a weekly thing, so it turns out Sam doesn’t have to work that hard at putting Steve and Bucky out of his mind. Sam could pretend that it’s because Steve and Bucky had insisted (which they did), but the truth is that it’s good to see them that often and it feels perfectly natural to have them in his home eating, laughing and resting. Because Sam is still treading lightly, he’s avoided going to the Tower that often, but it’s the third time Steve’s asked him over for brunch ( _I haven’t burnt a pancake in two months, Sam!_ ), and the rest of the team is invited, so Sam's willing to make an exception to his rule.

It figures that it’d blow up in his face.

Brunch itself goes pretty well. Sam’s always gotten along the Avengers. It goes even better than expected because he hasn’t seen any of them in a few months, and it feels good to see them again in circumstances that don’t involve fighting anyone.

“More?” Steve asks when most of the team’s left Steve and Bucky’s apartment to enjoy the rest of their Sunday.

Sam scoffs. “Unlike some of us at this table, my stomach does have a bottom. I’m gonna explode, Rogers.”

“Suit yourself,” Steve shrugs. “Just means you’ll have to come over more often.”

“Guess it does,” Sam says, trying his hardest to keep his voice stable. Because he’s subtler than Steve (not that that’s a high bar), Sam takes his time before basically escaping. He chats with Clint for a few more minutes, then picks up their plates and washes them by hand, despite Steve’s protests, and only after the table’s clear does Sam excuse himself.

Sam walks out of the dining room and trails down the corridor, not really caring about where he’s heading.

 _Just means you’ll have to come more often_.

It’s exactly what he’d tried to avoid, Sam thinks with a humourless laugh. Weekly dinner and the occasional Tower visit are pretty much his limit, and he doesn’t think he’d be able to handle anything more. Sam slows down and leans against the doorway to what he assumes is a guest room. Since it looks unoccupied, he walks in and lets his eyes roam over the room, hoping to ground himself a little bit and distract himself by cataloguing what’s in there.

At first glance, it’s a guest room like any other guest room. There’s a full bed in the middle of the room, with dark blue sheets. The night stand and drawers are both dark grey; the walls, too, though they’re slightly lighter. There’s a set beige towels folded at the foot of the bed, a toothbrush and toothpaste at the top of the pile. The room is pristine, like not much has been moved, but it doesn’t smell stale. Sam’s ready to walk back out when he notices, of all things, the toothpaste.

It’s the one that both Steve and Bucky absolutely hate—one that also happens to be Sam’s favorite. Sam’s eyes travel down to the towels, which are, just like the ones he owns at home, ridiculously soft and made in Turkey. It’s one of the few things Sam allows himself to splurge on. Before Sam can even start to think about what any of it means, he notices the comforter the towels are on and lets out a quiet gasp.

The last time Sam saw this comforter, it was in Atlanta, eight years ago. He’d been helping his cousins pack up his grandmother’s house—she’d sold the house and was going to move with his Aunt Renée in New York. They’d done a great job of packing up the place without wasting too much time, but packing up her bedroom had been...rough. They’d snuck into her room countless times, playing with her makeup, trying on her shoes and unearthing her old records, no matter how much they got in trouble for it. They’d spent God knows how many nights and early mornings in her bed, laughing, listening to her stories, crying, or just taking comfort. It had all hit them then, just how close they were to losing her for good, and it’d been one of the toughest days of Sam’s life. He hadn't gotten the comforter out of its box since then, and had assumed it was one of the many things he'd lost while he was on the run.

All the things Sam cares about, big and small, are accounted for in this room.

Sam had always been mindful of having space in his relationships. Space to be shitty, space to be tired, space to be numb. Space to be vulnerable in a world that didn’t allow him to be. And since there were very few people he felt comfortable being that way with, he hadn’t really gotten to claim that space, or receive it.

But this, here. This is it. This is space.

Space to breathe where he thought he’d have none, space to be human and flawed, to feel comfortable even as he’s going through it. Space to be away when he felt like it, close enough to come back to the men he cared about when he was ready.

And it was space for _him_. Space _for_ him. From the sheets to the toothpaste to the bed to the floor.

Sam actually feels a little light headed, and backs up slightly, leaning on the door frame for support. His breath leaves him in short, stuttered waves, and his hand flies up to his chest.

These are all the things he thought he couldn’t have, couldn’t show if he opened up to someone. They’re needs he hadn’t expected Steve and Bucky to think of, to think _Sam_ had, let alone to express this way.

Sam turns to leave the room, so ready to head back home when he runs into Natasha.

“Why do you look like you’ve seen a ghost?”

“Um, I—” How is Sam supposed to explain that Bucky and Steve had blown through his defenses with a goddamn toothpaste brand?

She raises an eyebrow, and actually seems concerned.

“Sam. You okay?”

“I...I’m not sure.”

Natasha’s eyes leave Sam’s face, and her face is a mix of understanding and confusion when she sees where Sam comes from.

“They’re still in the dining room,” Natasha says. “Do you wanna go outside for a minute?”

She’s being gentle, but not pitying him, and she’s offering him a way out. Sam’s really fucking grateful, and he wishes he was able to express it, but she doesn’t seem to have a problem when all Sam does is nod and follow her out of the apartment.

*

“You’re surprised?” Natasha asks, and _she_ sounds surprised, but not judgmental. Sam had been quiet all the way out of the apartment, into the elevator and up to the roof, but what he saw in that room had come pouring out of him the second they were outside.

“I…I don’t know what the fuck I am.”

Nat laughs. “Fair enough. But I could’ve told you Steve made space for you and assumed you’d be there to take it up the second he got into my car that day at the Mall. It didn’t take long for Bucky to do the same. I thought you knew that.”

“I do. I know they care, I just…” Sam sighs. “They make it seem so fucking easy, you know? But it isn’t. How do I do it? How do I let myself—”

“Be vulnerable? How do you let yourself be loved?”

Sam shrugs. He hadn’t been willing to put his feelings into words quite like that.

Natasha is quiet for a long time, and when she does reply, her answer is not at all what Sam expects.

“I have a garden, in the Tower. I keep it in the summer, mostly, and it’s easy to have someone take care of it for me when I can’t. Last year, I screwed up my lavender—too much wind—but it’s not gonna happen this year. I watch movies with Clint, have book club with Phil, Pepper and Trip every six weeks. Nakia and I are pen pals. It doesn’t erase the red in my ledger. Honestly, the two aren’t even related.”

Sam looks at her again. “They aren’t?”

“D’you really think if I wanted to properly redeem myself I’d be on my fourth rewatch of the _Die Hard_ Series with Clint?”

“Point.”

“This isn’t...this isn’t so the nightmares stop. This isn’t so they let me through the pearly gates.” Natasha reaches for Sam’s hand. He lets her take it. “Giving things and people my time? Caring? This is what I have to live for. That I even _get_ to live for something that isn’t furthering someone’s agenda is just…” She frowns and licks her lips—mundane gestures that Sam had only been allowed to see after they took town a government agency together—and tightens her hold on his hand. “And some things...some things inside me can’t be fixed. Never will be. Doesn’t mean I’m not worth loving.”

“That was really good. You ever consider working for the VA? We’re always looking for people.”

Nat’s eyes say she’s on to Sam, but he’s grateful she lets him get away with the deflection. She moves closer to him, puts her head on his shoulder, and makes it look as easy as breathing.

“Start putting in a word for me,” she murmurs. “I might take you up on it someday.”

Sam closes his eyes, lets Nat’s words wash over him, and for a second, he lets himself imagine what that would look like.

Letting people in. Letting people in because of the pain. _In spite_ of it.

Sam feels his heart stutter in his chest, and it’s both a blessing and a curse that in that moment, he can’t tell whether it’s from excitement or fear.

***

It takes two months of weekly dinners and the occasional brunch for the other shoe to finally drop. Bucky’s the one to break the ice, one night after dinner.

They’re sprawled on Sam’s couch after desert, sharing the throw on Sam’s couch that’s way too small for three men their size. The conversation’s drifted to stories about Riley and Sam’s buddies from the Falcon program and the Howling Commandos, laughter and jokes flowing out between the three of them, nice and easy.

“I miss it,” Sam says quietly after a story about a particularly intense round of Never Have I Ever.

“What do you miss?” Bucky asks.

“Having peopleーfriends around. Havingー” Sam stifles a yawn “ーpeople to just be with, you know?”

At first, Sam doesn’t understand the awkward silence that settles between them, and by the time he realizes what he says, it’s too late.

“You could have it again,” Bucky says. “You could have it again with us.”

Sam’s heart stutters in his chest and he prays neither of them hears it. It comes back to him all at once: him avoiding them after coming back to New York, the guest roomー _Sam’s_ roomーand the feelings that came along with it had been like an elephant in the room that only Sam could see.

“I don’t think shacking up with two centenarians is gonna bring those feelings back, Buck,” Sam says, and hopes his joke lands so they can move on.

“Maybe not _those_ feelings, but we couldーyou could have something different. Something more.” Steve sits up and faces Sam properly, eyes boring into Sam’s. “You don’t have to if you don’t wanna, but we want you with us, however much you’re willing to give. It’s just, it’s just that weーwe care about you. A lot. And we kinda thought you felt the same. Sorry to spring this on you like this,” he adds when he sees Sam’s face. “But I thought that after Thanos we could settle together, the three of us. I thought...I kinda thought that’s what you wanted, too. I thoughtーwhen you didn’t come with us to the Tower, I thought it was gonna be temporary. I always thought you’d come back.”

“Fuck, Steve. Give me a second,” Sam says, putting his hand up and closing his eyes. He feels dizzy: his heart is pounding at hearing that his feelings are reciprocated, but his stomach is filling with dread at the idea of them knowing that he’s wanted this but couldn’t let himself have it, and his head is screaming that this is all just _way too much_ and going _way too fast_.

Sam’s eyes open when he hears Bucky leave the room, and his heart sinks. Sam’s sure he’s fucked it up beyond repair until Bucky comes back with cool bottles of water. Sam grabs one and drains half of it in one go. When he starts feeling mildly more in control, he takes a deep breath and tries to put his thoughts in order.

“I know that. I know how you feel. IーI feel the same,” Sam says, and feels both Steve and Bucky’s bodies relax at that, though they’re not touching. “But I’m not sure I canーI’m not sure I can do a relationship with...with everything.” Sam knows he’s not being clear, but that’s the best he can do for now.

“Everything?” Bucky asks. He looks confused, the same way Steve had in Central Park all those weeks ago, and in the moment, Sam realizes two things: for one, they’d been heading towards this moment, towards Sam opening up, the second he’d agreed to have dinner with them Steve, and that he’d only been delaying the inevitable.

For two, the moment for Sam to come clean is right now. 

“Everything. I don’t...I can’t do this. I’m notーrelationships aren’t for me.”

Bucky frowns. “Youーyou’re caring, and sweet, and you listen. We know each other, and we know you’d show up for us when we need youーit’s what you’ve been doing for the past five years. And we sure as hell would show up for you. That’s all that is, sweetheart. Besides, if we got together, I don’t think much would change.”

Sam shakes his head. “That’s not...that’s not it. It’s not you, it’s not us, it’sー”

“What is it?” Steve asks quietly.

“It’s...me. I’m not...happy all the time, I haven’t always been this well adjusted. Me being fucked upーit’s not just Riley and the fighting and the PTSD.” Sam looks at the both of them, silently pleading for them to understand. He thinks of the nights he would spend crying alone, both before and after his dad passed. He thinks of the joy of figuring out he was queer, only for that joy to be snatched away a few months later when he realized that wasn’t the only reason he felt off. Different. Too sad too often for a kid who had a loving family, for a teenager who did well in school and had lots of friends, for a man who always had a smile on his face. “I don’t know. I just figured...I figured I’d have my shit together more on the inside before I...let someone in.”

“It’s your decision, whether you want do be with us or not,” Steve says, before grabbing Sam’s hand and holding it lightly. “But I think it’d be sad if I didn’t get to be with you just ‘cause you’re human.”

“Or just ‘cause you’re not as okay as you think you should be,” Bucky adds.

Sam wants it. He wants it all. Bucky’s quiet presence and Steve’s bright one; both of them steady by his side. He shrugs and nods, then hears himself telling his vets to use their words. For once, he listens to his own advice.

“I want this. I do. But it’s gonna take me a while. To do this properly. And we’re gonna need to talk some more, okay?”

“However long you need,” Bucky assures him, and takes his other hand in his. “We don’t have to talk about all of it right now. We can just sit together.”

Sam nods, then takes another leap, and leans his head on Steve’s shoulder and wraps his arm around Bucky’s, and they both move closer to him. There’s a bit of tension left in his muscles, and the situation feels a little surreal, but it’s easy to try to let it all go with Steve and Bucky are pressed against him like this.

“I want this,” Sam says again, after a moment, to let them know that what he feels for them isn’t new. He does have feelings for them, and has for a while. He just didn’t know it’d be possible to actually be together. Didn’t think it could be that simple. “I really do. I meant it when I said it wasn’t you. It’s always been like this. I don’t really know why.”

“Depression?” Steve asks softly.

“Maybe,” Sam says, shrugging, before rubbing a hand over his face. “It’s like...I always felt like it was easier for me to fall into a bad mood, and harder for me to climb out of it than other people. And this was beforeーthis was before my dad died. And then the Air Force, and then Riley, it just...never stopped. I just figured...I just figured it was easier to deal with it, with all of it, on my own.”

“With Riley, you never…?” Bucky trails off.

“No, I...I never.” Sam shrugs again, feels Bucky’s arm tighten around his waist. “I think I could’ve, if I wanted to. But like I said. Things didn’t...feel right enough for a relationship. And when you’re deployed, well...shit is accelerated. You don’t get to figure out your feelings, you don’t get to ask for things to go slow when your life could end the next day. Even if I wanted to explain things to him, it...it wouldn’t have been fair, you know?”

Bucky and Steve nod at the same time and Sam remembers they were soldiers just like him before the serum. 

“Thanks for telling us,” Steve murmurs, and his lips brush Sam’s temple.

“Yeah,” Sam says. “Nat helped, too.”

“Yeah?” Sam can hear the fond smile in Steve’s voice.

“Yeah. Had some halfway decent things to say about letting yourself beーletting yourself be loved.” Sam says that last word quietly, and feels himself flush. He clears his throat. “A few near-death experiences and apocalypse scares’ll change people, apparently.”

“Ain’t your fault, sweetheart,” Bucky says, and it's his turn to kiss Sam's temple. “Steve and I have lots of experience coming back from the dead, but this is your first time. It’s okay that you’re bad at it.” He laughs softly when Sam elbows him. “Natalia was right, though. You’re supposed to adjust things the second time around. Do things differently, if only a little bit. Even if your life wasn’t nearly as fucked as mine, because you know you were so close from never living it again.”

“And you think me being with you two is me living my life a little better,” Sam says, raising an eyebrow.

Bucky smiles at him, this close to being one of those real smirks of his. “Course it is.”

Steve huffs on his other side, gently cups Sam’s jaw and turns his face towards him. “Letting people in is living your life a little better. Letting people care for you and—and love you.” Sam has to take a deep breath at the word–it figures, that Steve would jump like this, without a parachute, in his love life too. “That’s living life a little better. Much better.” 

The only thing Sam can do, then, is lean forward and kiss Steve, kiss him the way he’s wanted to for way too long. It’s gentle, but it still feels like the ground has shifted under Sam’s feet. Sam doesn’t know if what he’s feeling is because of the wait or because the man himself, but his eyes are still closed, his lips still tingling, when Steve speaks again.

“We should’veーwe probably should’ve communicated better. Told you, out loud, what we wanted. What we felt.”

“Yeah,” Sam gasps out, then shakes his head a little, because he still has something important to say. “It won’t–it’ll take me a while. To be better. To get this–” Sam clears his throat, gathers his courage “– this relationship right. I’m…I’m new to this. I don’t wanna fuck it up.”

Bucky nods, his fingers moving up and down Sam’s side. “I know, sweetheart. It’ll be a while for all of us. But,” Bucky says, turning to lay a kiss on Sam’s cheek, “I’m game if you are.”

Sam’s answer comes as light as the breeze under his wings, as heavy with possibilities as Sam’s body when he’s free falling.

“I’m game,” he says, and lays his forehead to Bucky’s, moving in for a kiss because this too, has been long overdue. “Always have been.”

**Author's Note:**

> First, I got the idea of a space/room for Sam from this fic called [Whisper](https://archiveofourown.org/works/7167383), by [Ava Kelly](https://archiveofourown.org/users/AvaKelly/pseuds/AvaKelly). It's a cool Sam/Clint AU where Riley is actually Clint Barton.
> 
> This has been wasting around in my drafts half-finished for a while and since I felt like posting something over 600 words, I attempted to finish it in a decent way.
> 
> Title from Hiding by Florence and the Machine. 
> 
> I am on [Tumblr](http://targaryenmelodrama.tumblr.com) if you wanna drop by!


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